


Tactical Retreat

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: The Butterfly Project [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Protective Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Protective Logic | Logan Sanders, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, can be platonic or romantic you decide, i fucked myself up writing this so BE WARNED, it gets talked about quite a bit even if it's not explicit so be warned, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Retreat: an act or process of withdrawing especially from what is difficult, dangerous, or disagreeable.Retreat: a place of privacy or safety: REFUGE.* * *“We are so not done with this conversation,” Remus had said.That would certainly explain why Remus barges into Roman’s room at absolutely-unreasonable-do-you-have-any-idea-what-time-it-is o’clock.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Series: The Butterfly Project [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199582
Comments: 20
Kudos: 76





	Tactical Retreat

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to the two reqs! they fit so well that I did them together, I hope that's okay ^_^
> 
> also: GUYS PLEASE VIEW THIS AS A C H E C K P O I N T
> 
> if you've been scrolling for a while (and you probably have) pause here! drink water! get food! walk around the room for a little bit! stretch! do something please! you are very important to me and I care about you very deeply!

**Prompts:** averykedavra: could i request,,,logince? maybe an imagination fic? roman retreating to the imagination and logan finding and comforting him? no pressure, but thank u regardless, and your stories are incredible!

Anon: So I’m I adore your writing and like I’ve read your stuff on ao3 and I just wanted to ask if you ever thought of that conversation between Roman and Remus and stuff that they mentioned in that story about Logan relapsing...? I just, I love the way you write your characters and dive into their head and manners so well- it’s incredible. (I’m shy to say but I also write a bit and I saw you’d left a comment on my story and I kind of died cause you’re incredible and I’m majorly inspired by you-)

* * *

_Roman just looks at them all and raises an eyebrow._

_“Oh, please. It’s not all long sleeves and pants all summer for no reason.”_

_“R-Roman, you—you—?”_

_“Yeah, Specs,” Roman murmurs when Logan can’t find his words, “me too.”_

_“Oh, we are not done with this conversation.”_

_…_

_“Will you let us help you clean them?”_

_Unbidden, Logan’s face flares bright red._

_“You don’t have to be embarrassed, sweetie…”_

_Roman gently nudges Remus’s arm. “Let me. You two go check on Patton and Virgil.”_

_“What?”_

_“Roman—“_

_“Come on,” Roman coaxes, “it’s not like I don’t have the practice.”_

_“We are so not done with this conversation.”_

That would certainly explain why Remus barges into Roman’s room at absolutely-unreasonable-do-you-have-any-idea-what-time-it-is o’clock.

“ _Remus_ ,” Roman sighs, sitting up and covering his eyes, “I know it might not seem like it, but I do need my beauty sleep too.”

He frowns when Remus doesn’t say anything.

“I can look at whatever you’ve made tomorrow,” he promises, “I just—I don’t really want to—not that I don’t want to!—but can I…sleep, first, please?”

Remus still doesn’t say anything. Roman peeks out from behind his hand to see Remus…is still humanoid. The door isn’t… _off_ its hinges, it’s just been slammed open. His morningstar isn’t in his hands. His brother is just staring at him.

_Shit._

“Re?” Roman sits up slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light. “Re, are you—can you come here please?”

Remus walks into the room. Roman pulls back the covers, making room for his brother, already running through the checklist in his head. No blood, no guts, first aid kit is in the corner, he can get the shower running if need be…

It’s only when Remus actually _stops_ next to his bed that he realizes what’s going on.

Remus is wearing his soft things. Remus has _opened_ Roman’s door. And now he’s getting into the bed and just _staring_ at him.

“…Re?”

“Ro,” Remus whispers, and oh _no,_ “Ro, you…you didn’t have _anybody?_ ”

Roman’s heart clenches in his chest and an emptiness oozes into his throat. He should’ve known that Remus was serious when he said they weren’t done with that conversation.

“…Re, I—“

“Don’t bullshit me, Roman,” Remus hisses, the desperation bleeding into Roman’s lungs, “I _know_ you, Ro-bro, and you—you—I’m gonna kick their asses.”

Roman sighs, his head falling back to the pillow. Now that the worry over his brother has dissipated, he _really_ just wants to go back to sleep.

“You don’t have to do that, Re,” he mumbles.

“The hell I do!” Roman winces and he hushes. “You—Ro, you _know_ what my job is. You know I—“

“Yeah, Re, I _do_ know what your job is.” He stifles a yawn. “I…sorry, I just…I’m really tired right now.”

A sharp poke to his belly makes him squeak.

_“Remus!_ ”

“I told you, Ro, you can’t bullshit me.”

“What do you want me to say?”

_“Something,_ anything, Ro, you—“ Remus chokes— “Ro, you’re my _brother._ You’re fucking _important_ to me.”

“I know, Re, I…well, I would say I’m sorry, but you told me not to bullshit.”

“So you’re _not_ sorry.”

“Sorry for worrying you, yeah. But not for…” Roman sighs. “I would just be apologizing for how it makes _you guys_ react and not because I’m sorry for what I’ve actually been doing.”

Remus is quiet for a moment. The bed dips under his weight as he slides under the blankets. Then he shifts a little closer until his hair brushes Roman’s nose.

“…when you said you knew what my job is,” he mutters after a moment, “you didn’t just mean the intrusive thoughts, did you?”

Roman shakes his head. “Thomas…I’m the… _safe_ Creativity. I’m the fluffy, dreamy, Disney side.”

Remus moves to look up at him, encouraging him to continue.

“So I…I tend to romanticize things. I get the pretty, artsy, _palatable_ version of things.” The emptiness bubbles up lazily into his throat. “Of everything. You…you get the _real_ version of them.”

Even in the dim light, he can see Remus visibly pale.

“You get all the messy consequences, the _realities_ of…a lot of the things that I wouldn’t.” Roman swallows. “So…”

“Oh, _Ro…_ ”

“Do we have to have this conversation now?”

Remus props himself up on his elbow, the blanket sliding a little off his shoulders. “Do you wanna have it in broad daylight, then? Plan it all out, sit down with a drink and a notebook? Have one of your lists to work down?”

“…can you at least close the door, please?”

A weight leaves Roman’s chest as the door closes and the light vanishes, leaving them in near darkness. His eyes close.

_Damn it._

The mattress sinks as Remus gets back into the bed. He’s too far away for Roman to feel him. But he can feel his gaze on him.

“What do you want from me?”

“The truth?”

Roman huffs. “Is that all?”

“I dunno, Ro-bro, you’ve gotten pretty good at misleading everyone else.”

“I’m an actor.”

“Yeah, which means you’re _really_ not good at turning it off.”

A mirthless laugh bursts out of one of the bubbles in his throat.

“Haven’t exactly had much of an incentive to do _that._ ”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Come on, you think any of them have actually _wanted_ the real me for…ever?”

Remus scrambles up. “Roman, that’s—fuck, you’re one of the _core Sides._ You’re—you’re so fucking important, Ro, they—they _love_ you.”

Something darker than darkness shears through the emptiness.

“No,” Roman growls, turning his head into the pillow, “no, they don’t.”

Did they ever? Or was that just an easy way to string along their favorite little puppet?

Before the anger can _fully_ take hold of his throat, the emptiness oozes back into place and his jaw slackens, prompting another sigh as Remus freezes above him.

“What’re you talking about, Ro,” comes his voice from _somewhere,_ “they—you—aren’t you…?”

“They say it,” Roman manages, “but I don’t think they mean it. Or if they do, it’s not—it’s not like _that._ ”

“Well, then what the fuck _is_ it?”

“They don’t want to _listen_ to me, not really, they just…well, they need _someone_ else to be there.”

“It’s funny because I’m pretty sure we _just_ had this conversation with Lolo.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” Remus pokes Roman’s shoulder until he rolls onto his back. He glares. “I don’t care what _anyone_ else says, Ro, you’re fucking important. You’re not replaceable. And you’re sure as hell not unlovable.”

Roman flinches.

Remus tilts his head, eyes widening.

“You don’t believe me.”

Roman shakes his head.

Remus lets out a shaky breath and lies back down, still staring at Roman. “Ro-Bro, what did they _do_ to you?”

“What, you want the list alphabetically or in chronological order?”

“Roman, _please._ ”

Roman’s eyes snap open in shock. Remus stares back at him, _pleading._ His brother is _begging,_ he realizes in a panic. He wasn’t sure Remus knew _how_ to do that.

“I’m—“

“If you _dare_ say you’re sorry, I’m gonna rip your testicles out through your mouth.”

Roman swallows. “They just…they won’t listen to me,” he repeats lamely, “they don’t _want_ me.”

“What do you mean, they don’t _want_ you?”

Conveniently, Roman’s brain is now _entirely_ empty. He knows stuff has happened to him…doesn’t he? Things…stuff’s been _bad_ now. For a while. He’s been…doing whatever _this_ is for a while.

So why can’t he remember?

“Every time I come up with an idea, it’s—they always want to change it.” But that’s just part of the editing process. He _needs_ the others to help him edit.

“They think I’m too loud.” He is, though.

“I’m—they think I’m—“

Arrogant? Overbearing? Stuck in a fantasy world?

All of the above?

“Nothing,” he whispers finally, “they didn’t do anything to me.”

He buries his face in his hands.

“They didn’t do _anything_ to me. I’m just—I’m just being overdramatic. It’s fine.”

“It’s clearly _not_ fine.”

“Isn’t it?” He flaps a hand at Remus. “ _You’re_ the one that gets the _real_ version of all this. I get the romanticized version. No consequences. Just pretty words and sentiments that don’t make sense.”

“You think Thomas is okay with a self-harming Ego?”

“Well, maybe Thomas deserves a better Ego!”

The room freezes.

Roman squeezes his eyes shut. “Thomas deserves an Ego that knows what he’s doing. That believes in himself. That can _do_ all the things it’s supposed to do.”

He lets his hands fall limply away from his face.

“But all he’s got is me.”

_I’m not enough._

“I can’t—I can’t do my job without being able to…” He sighs. “I’m the opposite of Logan.”

“…how so?”

“Logan does it to make things go _away_ so he can work. I do it make things _come_ so I can work.”

He feels Remus tense on the bed.

“Romanticized, remember? That’s my job. Fantasy, dreams, romance, not real. I…” He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”

A wave of exhaustion threatens to snatch his words from his mouth. _God,_ talking about this is so draining. Can he be done now?

“How,” Remus says after a moment, “can you _possibly_ say it doesn’t matter?”

“Can’t I just go to sleep now, Remus?”

“ _No,_ ” comes the snarl, “you can’t _fucking_ go to sleep, because you’ve just told me it doesn’t _fucking_ matter if you self-harm and that you think you aren’t _good enough without it._ ”

Roman shrinks into himself. “Don’t yell at me.”

“Give me one good reason why not!”

“Because you’re making me want to do it again.”

Remus’s breath leaves him in a rush.

“Oh, _Roman…_ ”

Roman just curls up tighter.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he hears Remus mutter faintly before something ruffles his hair and the bed dips further, “Ro-Bro, hey, look at me.”

“Are you going to yell at me again?”

“No, Roman, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things worse. I’m just really upset for you right now. I promise I won’t yell.”

Roman looks up. Remus smiles back at him, still not touching him. If he wanted to, he could reach out and tug Remus closer, but…that’s _hard._

“Hey,” Remus says quietly, “you here with me?”

Roman nods.

“I’m sorry, really,” he continues, “we can…if you really want to stop, we can stop.”

“…no.” Roman shakes himself a little. “You’re right. I’d rather…I think I’d rather do it now, like this. So I don’t have to do it later.”

“Okay.” Remus shifts a little. “Can I ask you some questions or do you just want to talk and I’ll listen?”

“I don’t know if I _can_ just talk.”

“That’s okay, Ro. How about this: I’m gonna ask you stuff and when you wanna say something, you just say it.”

“Okay.”

“How long has this been happening?”

Roman shuffles. “Long enough. Um…at least a few years.”

“Do you have the medical supplies you need to take care of it afterward so they don’t get infected?”

“Yeah.”

“If you run out, can you easily get more?”

“Yeah.”

Remus lets out a long, slow, breath. “Okay. Okay, that’s…that’s good.”

“Is that it?”

“Do you want it to be?”

Roman falters, looking at Remus’s face. The room is still dark. It’s still the middle of the night. The world is paused, breathing softly. He…he has time.

“…no.”

“Okay.” Remus shifts to lay on his side. “Can I ask you more stuff?”

“Sure.”

“It’s not just cutting, is it?”

Roman’s face burns. “No.”

“Will you tell me what else it is?”

“I don’t let myself eat. I read things I know are gonna be bad for me. I put myself in situations that I know are gonna be bad for me.”

“Can you give me an example of one?”

“…I submit an idea I know they’ll hate.”

Remus lets out another breath. Something tingles on the tip of Roman’s tongue, pressing up against his lips.

“…why didn’t you come to any of us?”

He swallows it down. “I didn’t think you’d listen.”

“I will,” Remus promises, “I always will.”

“How can you promise that?”

“Because you’re my brother,” he answers like it’s the easiest thing in the world, “and you’re important to me.”

Oh.

“So if you wanna talk,” he continues like he _hasn’t_ just shattered Roman’s worldview, “I’m here to listen.”

The tingle is back. He stares at Remus, stuck. He can talk. He _should_ talk. They _just_ had a conversation with Logan about that. He should know this. This shouldn’t be happening to him.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

“You have to promise me something.”

“What?”

“Don’t touch me until I’m done.”

He can tell he’s startled Remus by the way the covers jerk back.

“…I promise.”

_Here goes nothing._

“It’s not that I _want_ this,” he starts, the words aching on his tongue, “that I want to feel bad, or upset, or—or…hurt. I just…sometimes it’s easier to work that way.”

He scuffs a hand over his nose.

“If I’m upset, I can…I know what kind of thing would make me feel better. Or I know how I _am_ feeling and I can make an idea feel it instead. I know—I need—we—I—“

He sighs.

“I _hate_ this.”

“You’re doing great.”

_Doubt that._ “They don’t want _me._ They tell me I’m too loud, I don’t make enough sense, I’m too rash, I’m too selfish.” He swallows. “That I spend too much time dreaming.”

His face twitches.

“They think they know what I dream about.”

“…and what do you dream about?”

Roman sinks his head into the pillow, the soft material cool against his cheek. The bed is warm, the room slightly chilled, the air a comforting weight. The emptiness froths in his chest.

“It’s not important.”

“Bullshit,” and only Remus could make that sound affectionate, “they’re your _dreams,_ Ro.”

“Not Thomas’s.”

“So?” Remus reaches out to poke him but freezes halfway. The sight of his hand retreating makes Roman ache. “We _just_ figured out that we’re allowed to not just depend on that, right?”

“Not at the expense of Thomas.” Roman huddles tighter. “And they wouldn’t care about it anyway.”

“Why do you think they don’t care about you?”

“Isn’t that what I _just_ said,” he growls, scrubbing his hands over his face, “that they don’t want to listen to me? That they only ask for my opinion when they think I’ll be easily manipulated enough to agree with them? That when I’m not they reject me and everything I try to do for them?”

He takes a deep breath and draws his hands away. The sight of Remus, just out of reach, just _there,_ hurts. It hurts. The urge to bury his nose in the crook of his brother’s neck _hurts._

“No,” comes Remus’s voice quietly.

Roman blinks. His hands freeze, halfway to Remus.

Right. He asked for this.

He wraps his arms tightly around himself and squeezes.

“I can’t play the role all the time,” he murmurs, “so I have to…remind myself.”

“And that’s why you…?”

“Yeah.”

Remus is quiet for a moment. The room hurts. Roman is cold.

“Ro,” his brother says after a minute, “is you asking me to reject you if you look for physical comfort self-harm too?”

“…perhaps.”

“‘Cause you know self-denial is self-harm too.”

“ _Perhaps.”_

He looks up to see Remus’s eyes…glistening?

“I hope you know I’m gonna hug you really hard now.”

“…please?”

Remus all but _throws_ himself at Roman, rucking up the covers something awful as he bowls them over onto the pillows, his arms around his brother. Remus is big and warm and solid and soft and _perfect,_ squeezing Roman so tightly he worries for a minute that he won’t be able to breathe. He buries his nose in Remus’s neck and _oh,_ it’s everything he ever wanted. This is—

This is dangerous.

This is _warm_ and solid and fire burning in his stomach. This is being able to eat and eat and eat until his tongue turns black and falls out of his skull. This is standing in front of a hurricane and the winds whipping around his immovable body.

This is opening that pit in his chest and giving himself to the need to _devour._

Remus must feel the way he tenses in his arms and nuzzles into his hair.

“Ro-Bro?”

“Re?”

“Hey, what’s going on? You went weird there for a second.”

“This…this is okay, right?”

Remus squeezes him again. “Yes, Roman, this is okay. You’re allowed to hug me, I’m allowed to hug you.”

“It’s okay that I…want this?”

Remus stills and Roman panics.

He’s messed it up. He’s told Remus that he wants something. He’s told _Remus_ that he wants something. He’s told Remus that he _wants_ something. Remus is going to think he never wants to hug him. Remus is going to tell the others he’s being selfish. He’s let them know he still _wants._ He’s ruined everything.

Then Remus tightens his grip so much Roman gasps.

“ _Yes,_ Roman. This is perfectly fucking okay. You’re allowed to _want,_ Ro. You’re _supposed_ to want.”

“But I—Re—“

“Sorry.”

Roman pants as Remus loosens his grip. Just a little.

“But I—that’s _never_ a good thing. Anytime I want something, we—they—I—I’m supposed to give it up.”

“One of these days,” Remus grumbles, mostly to himself, “we’re gonna sit down with Patton and have a _conversation.”_

“…like, this kind of conversation?”

Remus grumbles something inaudible.

“But every time I want something it goes wrong.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to want, Roman.” Remus tucks his face back into Roman’s neck. “You’re allowed to make yourself satisfied.”

Roman shakes his head. He’s learned this time. He got it right this time. There’s no sainthood in satisfaction. Selfless is safe. He’s figured out how to hide his appetite and put them into his work and not ask for more. He knows not to take up too much space. And when he doesn’t, well…

He knows how to remind himself.

When he says that to Remus, Remus pulls back to look at him.

“You don’t think you deserve to make yourself happy?”

He tries to busy himself with fiddling with Remus’s shirt. “I’m what Thomas wants. Or I’m supposed to be. Who cares about _me?”_

“I do.”

Roman huffs sadly. “I don’t—yes, thank you, Remus, I—I care a lot about you too.”

“You can say you love me.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now, what were you going to say?”

Roman sighs, his eyes falling closed. “I want to be happy. I can’t be happy until Thomas is happy. And Thomas isn’t happy with what I want.”

“Oh, Ro…”

“I’m just—why can’t it be okay for me to just be _happy?_ ”

“It is, Ro, you can be happy.” Remus gives him another squeeze. “It’s…you can be _you,_ Roman. That’s okay.”

“But it _isn’t._ It never is. And I can’t—I can’t be happy. Not yet. I have work to do.”

Remus shifts until his chin is tucked over Roman’s shoulder.

“…thought you were the hero, Ro-Bro?”

As the words plunge deep into Roman’s chest, he smiles.

“Name me one hero who was happy.”

* * *

When Roman really doesn’t want to be found, he goes deep into the Imagination.

Remus knows, now. Remus came and _found_ him. Remus talked to him. Remus listens. Remus knows.

He was fine with telling Logan. Logan is different. They _want_ Logan. Logan is wonderful and amazing and deserves the world. Or the stars. Or both!

…Janus also knows now.

He’s not sure how he feels about that.

But they’re going to want to _talk_ to him. They’re going to want to _know_ things. And Roman.

Roman can’t. Not today. It’s too much. It hurts too much.

_“‘Cause you know self-denial is self-harm too.”_

“Go away,” Roman mutters to the ghost of Remus’s voice as he pushes through the tangled brush.

This is different. This is avoiding an overload. This is when he’s already packaged up his appetites so they’re acceptable. This is when he’s already been stripped of what he wants and he has to leave before he gets stripped of who he _is._

And it’s so, _so_ stupid.

The others haven’t even _done_ anything today.

_Have they ever?_

It’s just…sometimes it’s _hard,_ okay? Roman knows he has to do it—no, he doesn’t—yes, he _does—_ but sometimes he just wants everything to _stop_ for two fucking seconds.

There’s a dark patch of woods on Roman’s side of the Imagination. When he brings the others in, they spot it and think that it’s the gateway to Remus’s side.

That’s actually at the bottom of the lake. The gravity flips as you enter this brine pool with a dense methane atmosphere over it. It’s pretty cool, actually.

But not this forest. This forest is Roman.

It’s the last part of Roman that lets himself _want._

Deep between the trees, if you can find your way through, there’s a clearing. It’s very small, just large enough for a massive tree with white petals, almost brushing the ground. The petals sway gently in the little bit of breeze that manages to get through the thick walls of the other forest. Underneath is a little bench swing, just large enough for Roman to sit or lie down if he wants to. It smells gently of the blossoms. It’s quiet.

It’s _his._

As he slogs through the last part of the foliage, he almost drops to his knees in relief. He made it. He can stop now.

The swing creaks welcomingly as he sits down, the tree reaching to ruffle his hair. He closes his eyes and lets his head tip back. It’s safe here. There’s nothing that can hurt him. It’s his place, his haven. He doesn’t have to pretend here. His eyes flutter open as he watches the petals fall from the branches. They twist and turn until they land on his red sash.

He picks it up. It’s so small. And soft. It’s pretty. It looks so white against the red of his sash. Why isn’t the rest of his shirt that white?

And the sash is so…so…red…

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the sunlight gleam off of the blade of his sword.

A wounded noise escapes Roman’s throat and echoes around and around the still glade. His hands clutch at his sash as he tumbles gracelessly from the swing.

How could he be so _selfish?_

Logan is _hurting._ Logan is _struggling_ right now. The others should be focused on _Logan._ Not _him._

Is this what he thinks he needs to stoop to now? To—to—to get _attention_ now? He hasn’t learned his lesson about asking for attention? Hasn’t he learned that _asking_ for anything hurts?

Is that why he wants to do it so badly?

Because it doesn’t _matter_ that Roman self-harms. It doesn’t _matter_ that telling Logan that he _cared,_ that telling the others that _he_ could help felt like selfishly turning Logan’s problem into something about him. It doesn’t _matter_ that Roman’s wildest dream is to have someone care for him the way he desperately wants to be able to care for them.

Roman wants.

Roman’s not supposed to want something Thomas doesn’t want.

So Roman will be selfish here, in this glade, all by himself, where no one can see it, so that he doesn’t hurt anyone else.

Then he hears something.

“Roman? Roman, where are you?”

No.

_No._

“Roman! Roman, answer me!”

“No,” he whimpers, scrambling back against the tree.

Logan _can’t_ be here right now. Logan—Logan has enough of his _own_ to worry about, he can’t make Logan worry about _him_ too.

“Roman?” Logan’s voice takes on a note of panic. “Roman!”

He should tell Logan it’s nothing to worry about. He should come out of the woods and smile, say he’s fine. He should ask Logan if he’s okay.

He doesn’t want Logan to see this place.

He doesn’t want Logan to see _him_ like this.

He doesn’t want Logan to ask him if he’s okay.

Because he isn’t, and he’ll want to tell Logan that.

He staggers to his feet and starts to try and make it out of the glade before Logan gets too close. But the flowers are too soft, too warm, too _safe._ He can’t make himself get up, can’t make himself stop relentlessly _taking_ comfort. He can’t stop _wanting._

“Roman?” The leaves crinkle together. “Roman, are you back here?”

_No,_ he should say, _don’t come in here, it’s dangerous, I’ll come to you!_

_Yes,_ he wants to scream, _yes, come find me, come help me, I want you._

The glade holds its breath as Logan bursts through the trees.

“ _Roman!_ ”

Before he can blink, Logan’s crouching in front of him. He adjusts his glasses and reaches out for Roman’s shoulders, smoothing over the gold trim and examining his face anxiously.

“You’ve got scratches all across you,” he says worriedly, “did you have a hard time getting through? Are you alright? Were you with Remus?”

“No,” Roman mumbles, cheeks burning, “not…not Remus’s fault. Mine.”

“Roman,” he tuts, “you getting injured during a fight isn’t the fault you make it out to be.”

“…not a fight.”

Logan frowns. He glances over his shoulder. “The branches? I managed to get through with barely any scratches, perhaps if we go back through together, we can—“

“Wasn’t the branches, Logan,” Roman interrupts softly.

“Then…” He can almost _feel_ the minute Logan’s eyes land on his hands lying limply at his sides. “…Roman, did you…?”

He nods, shame burning in his gut.

“…this may be a redundant question,” Logan says quietly after a moment, “but…are you alright?”

He can’t help the huff. “Would you like the honest answer or the acceptable one?”

Logan blinks. “Roman, you…you can always be honest with me. I apologize if I have ever given you the impression that you can’t.”

He must be able to see the disbelief on Roman’s face.

“…I _do_ apologize for making you think your honesty was not wanted,” he says, shifting forward to kneel in front of Roman, “and…if it helps, I do believe I owe you.”

“No,” Roman says quickly, shaking his head, “no, Logan you don’t—you don’t owe me anything.”

  
“You cared for me.”

“That’s what anyone would do,” Roman argues, “what they _should_ do. You shouldn’t owe me for basic decency. If anything, I owed _you_ that.”

“Why would you owe me that?”

He laughs sadly. “Because I’m me? Because I’m loud and obnoxious and never want to listen to you?”

“And what about me? I’m cold and callous and dismissive of you.”

Roman shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”

Logan reaches up to push his hair out of his face. “And you’re not either.”

The wind ruffles through the petals. Logan looks up and smiles.

“It’s beautiful.”

Roman ducks his head. “…thanks.”

“So this is…yours?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s wonderful, Roman.”

“Thanks.”

“You don’t believe me,” Logan says softly, “do you?”

Roman just shrugs.

“Talk to me,” he coaxes, cupping Roman’s face in his hands, “come on, now.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Now, I don’t believe that for a second.”

It hurts. He wants and it hurts and it’s not supposed to hurt and of _course_ it’s supposed to hurt. Everything hurts. Logan scoots a little closer and waits patiently.

“…it used to be easy,” Roman whispers finally, “I used to be able to…to make this _work._ And now…now I don’t know how to anymore.”

“How what works?”

“I’m not supposed to want,” Roman confesses, “I’m supposed to want for _Thomas._ And I…I don’t know what that is anymore. Maybe I never did. But I—it used to be easy for me to make myself _stay_ where I was supposed to be. And how to remind myself to be safe in—in—“

“Pain,” Logan finishes.

Roman’s head throbs.

“Oh, my dear,” he murmurs, pulling Roman forward into a burning hug, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Roman slurs, drunk off of Logan’s arms around him, “don’t…don’t stress about it.”

“I’m worried about _you,_ little star,” Logan says against his temple, “you’re hurting.”

“We all hurt.”

“Yes, and recently, someone very smart said that something like _this_ isn’t necessary for us to love you.”

Roman looks up slowly, his eyes brimming with hope. Logan smiles down at him, head tilted in silent question.

“…you think I’m smart?”

“I think you’re quite intelligent, yes.” He catches a tear on the edge of his thumb. “And I think you’re hurting yourself, little star.”

“I…I _am,_ Logan.”

“I know,” Logan whispers, “I know you are.”

“I’m sorry—“

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, “don’t apologize, little star, it’s okay. I’m not angry. I understand.”

Of course he does. He’s Logan.

“It’s not easy, is it? It never is, it’s just…we have to unlearn things, now.” Logan strokes a hand through his hair. “Sometimes it’s going to be a little harder.”

And Roman is _here,_ in his glade, under his tree, protected by the eyes of the world by the thick forest wall, and he _wants._

He wants to throw his arms around Logan and hang on for dear life. He wants this pit in his stomach to fill to bursting and disappear forever. He wants everything to stop, right here, so he can live here forever.

What comes out instead is: “…can you hold onto me?”

Logan nods instantly. “How much?”

“…like I might fall off the face of the earth if you let go?”

“Can that happen,” Logan asks even though he’s already moving.

“Not if you hold on.”

A chuckle rumbles through the warm chest as Roman’s cheek comes to rest against the soft fabric. “Then I’d better hold on tightly.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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